M succinctly describes limitations of bureaucratic hierarchy
From For Your Eyes Only, by Ian Fleming.
“Dammit,” M’s eyes glittered impatiently. “That’s just what I mean! You rely on me. You won’t take any damned responsibility for yourself.” He thrust the stem of his pipe towards his chest. “I’m the one who has to do that. I’m the one who has to decide if a thing is right or not.”
The anger died out of the eyes. The grim mouth bent sourly. He said gloomily: “Oh well, I suppose it’s what I’m paid for. Somebody’s got to drive the bloody train.”
M put his pipe back in his mouth and drew on it deeply to relieve his feelings.
What if it happens that the people driving the bloody train can’t even make a decision on whether a thing is right or not? What if it ends up there are so many of them that they’re all paralyzed for fear of standing behind any decision at all?
What if we’re living in a world where Ms have all but died out?